Captive Of The Warg, (Wargs of the Outland #2)

Livery of Horror

His father's skin?

Reia's eyes splayed with realization. "Your...your father's skin?" Oh, gods! All these many years she'd stared at that monstrous pelt, she'd never guessed it to be a real warg pelt. A disturbing, overblown fake meant to intimidate and thrill Corfen's guests. And to inflate Rafen's infamy.

"You've seen it," the wargrex's said, his voice low and lethal.

She wiped her face blank, forcing herself not to look away. She'd been schooled well how to lie. But in this instance, she wasn't convinced a lie would serve her. So she nodded.

Yes, she knew where the skin was, and who treasured it like a trophy. It was one of the few things she'd savored about being in the outland—not having to eat her meals in the great hall, presided over by that empty glare. One she now knew belonged to a dead warg. A real warg.

Nose flexing, he stepped aside. "And you will make sure I get what I want." A command, not a request.

"He'll...he'll never give it up," she stammered.

But the wargrex spoke as though she hadn't interjected. "You'll do this because I have something of yours. Something you cherish."

Her heart began a slow slither to the pit of her gut. She knew where this was going.

"Some motivation for you, soldier-of-no-consequence." The last was said with dripping sarcasm. His ear perked and he glanced around, all eyes following his gaze.

It was then she saw an older woman emerging from one of the rooms in the back of the hall. And trotting at her heels, a lithe young dog with its tongue lolling out.

"Basil!" She staggered forward, hands reaching. In that fleeting instant, she lost the battle to control her demeanor. But just as abruptly as the joy exploded, it shattered.

The dog was all wrong. Her feet froze mid-step.

This couldn't be her sweet boy! Basil was barely a month old. And this pup, suddenly galloping toward her with excited yips, was much much older.

The dog who was not Basil leaped up on Reia before she knew how to react. There was no denying the instant, uncanny recognition in him. He reared, tail swatting the wargrex's legs, his forepaws dragging excitedly at her thighs as though begging Reia to pick him up.

She knew her eyes were like full moons as she lowered herself to scratch behind his ears as he liked. He was the same color as Basil. The same unusual black fur. But the pup's eyes were no longer that slate, newborn blue—they were beginning to show signs of turning yellow. And he was twice the size he'd been when she'd seen him last. Logic proscribed him an imposter, for her Basil was still in his infancy. Yet this pup's eyes proclaimed her his mother...

Reia stabbed the wargrex with a look of mistrust. "How long was I...unconscious?"

His mouth quirked with something between a snarl and a grin. "Not that long."

This wasn't adding up. "What have you done to him?" He'd doubled in size. "My Basil is still a newborn. I don't..." She swallowed, her chest flooding with guilt as she stood, drawing back from he dog. "I don't recognize this animal." But she did, didn't she? The dog's familiar soulful eyes tugged at her conscience.

A voice drew her eyes to one of the wargs on the dais, his words clipped. "I don't think she knows what she has there, Bayne." He spoke low and though his wargish was rapid, she caught every word.

The wargrex half turned his head to acknowledge this warg, but his eyes never left her. "You're right, Forx." This in Wraisian, for her benefit. "I don't think she understands the nature of this animal."